Christmas Carols, Ancient and Modern/Annotated/Missus est angelus Gabriel

by William Sandys

MISSUS EST ANGELUS GABRIEL.

God sent his Aungell Gabriell

To Nazareth the chefe cite

Of Galile, as Luk will telle,

To Marie mylde and mayden fre.

 

The which was weddid to a man

Of David hows, that Joseph hight;

To her the Aungell entrid than

And seyde unto that mayden bryght,

 

Hayl, ful of grace, the Lord of all

He is with thee, blessyd mote thou be

Among all wymen grete & small;

Thus salwed he that Lady fre.

 

When sche this herde sche was affrayede,

And thought with in hir hert wytly

Of this worde howe it was sayde;

And than to her he seyde in highe,

 

Drede nought, Marye, for thou hast founde

The grace of God in mekenesse trewe;

Thow schalt conseyve and bere a sone,

And thou schalt clepe his name Jη̃u.

 

He schal be grete by goldy myght,

And cleped hys sone that is most hee;

He schal hym gyve by mothir ryght

The sete of David hys fathir free.

 

In Jacob hows he schal be kyng,

And of hys rewme shcal be noon ende;

Then askyd Marye of this thing,

How it schulde be sche wolde be kende,

 

For man I purpose nevꝛ to knowe;

Than seyde the Aungell from above

The Holy Gost schal come and schowe

To thee in the strengthe of love,

 

And umbischadwe thee with light

And vꝛtue grete of hys godhede;

Th̴fore that holy thing of myght

That schal be born of thee in dede

 

Schal be Goddis sone, and so be called,

And so Elizabeth thi awnte

Sche hath conseyved, though sche be olde,

A sone, suche grace God hath hir graunte.

 

And now the Sixte moneth is this

To hir that passed in childe berynge,

To God unmyghty no thing is,

At hym be may no failyng thinge.

 

Than spak the mother of pyte,

Lo the Lordys handmayde I am,

Aftꝛ thi woorde be do to me;

And at that poynt God bycome man.

 

Than roos that blissyd mayde Marye,

And gede up to the hillys with hasty breeth

Unty the hows of Zakarye,

And salewed ther Elizabeth.

 

And whan Elizabeth dide her

The gretyng of that lady swete,

Hir childe Seynt John glad cher than made

With inne hir wombe there as sche sete.

 

And than, fulfilled of the holy Goost,

Elizabeth bigan to crye

Blessed the art of wymen moost

So is the fruyt of thi bodye.

 

And how is this, that thus to me

Cometh the mothir of my Lord,

To make my childe so welcome thee

As voys dothe voys in gode acorde?

 

And blessyd be thou in feith so trewe,

For what is seyde from God to thee,

By p̃phets alle bothe olde and newe,

Now is fulfilled, blessyd mote the be.

 

Than spake Mary, Goddis mothir dere,

Moche magnifieth my Sowle my Lord,

And so my spirit hath schewed glad cher

In God my helpe with ful acorde.

 

This graciouse cowpil of foure in fere,

Of Crist Jη̃u and Marye milde,

Elizabeth and hir sone dere

Seynt John Baptist, fro schame us schilde.

Amen.

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